Next day I pedalled for 200 km to reach Ambositra (pronounced ambushed). The first part of this distance was a piece of cake – simply flat. I met two Canadians on my way, their bikes just as loaded with luggage as mine, but they could not keep pace with me. I felt refreshed and powerful until the hills and climbs began. Suddenly, heavy rain started pounding down. Huge raindrops slammed me painfully, just like hailstones! Fortunately, the nearest village was just a few hundred metres away. I found shelter under the roof of one of the houses, and waited until it stopped raining. Half an hour later everything around me was floating, and I began to wonder if I would make it on the same day to Ambositra, where I was bound to find a hotel. I still had 40 km to go. No big deal, you might think, but I will surely remember the 40 km for a long time!

After an hour or so the rain subsided, so I pushed the pedals as hard as I could. However, not only kept the rain coming back (even if softer than before), but also the climbs were getting steeper and steeper. Moreover, dusk was approaching. My spirits drooped. I was angry with myself for not staying overnight in the village I left several kilometres behind. I could not predict that the flat road would turn into such a steep slope. I was also mad that I was cold, that it was raining – I was mad at the whole world. Having reached on of the passes, I had a hot meal and gathered up strength before facing the remaining 21 km. Still, my psyche was not helping me at all. I had to motivate myself, and force myself to muster up some more energy. It was getting dark. I switched on the rear light to avoid getting hit by a car, and kept cycling until complete darkness had fallen. Then I put on the head torch, but the drizzling rain and light fog made visibility very poor. I barely avoided bumping into a heap of sand that blocked half of the road. Phew! My heart was beating faster. When I reached the town, I was completely exhausted. Some Malagasy asked me if I needed accommodation. I nodded and after a while I found myself in a cosy hotel. A Chinese owner welcomed me in high spirits, which was attributable to a certain amount of rum he had had. Moments later I shared his mood. I ate scrambled eggs, which I had been dreaming of for many days, but something must have been wrong with the meal, because my stomach was upset on the following day. I didn't have enough energy to struggle with the hilly route. Every now and then I would lie down under a tree. Having crossed another 85 km, I found a hotel in some town, got medication, and soon overcame the crisis. I should have done it sooner!!!

In the morning, taking my time, I arrived in a village called Ranomafana, where I intended to stay for two days. I wanted to visit the National Park. Before reaching my destination, however, I had to face 30 km of a dirt road covered with rocks and mud. The surface was so terrible that I couldn't go faster than 15 km/h.

Next day I was driven to the Park gates. How the driver swerved on that road full of holes is beyond description! A park guide was already waiting for me. I detached the cleats from my shoes to walk firmly on slippery stones. Once again I saw lemurs and other small creatures. Since I was wearing shorts, every now and then I had to pull out small leeches from my legs. They normally live on plants, waiting for the host. It rains every day in Madagascar, so the leeches have enough moisture they need for living (and enough of vazahas' blood to). I took a lot of pictures and, being tired with the several hour long trip, I went to the sanatorium located in the village. It was one of two such facilities on the island. Ranomafana translates into 'hot water', and it was exactly in such water – with a distinct smell of hydrogen sulphide – that I warmed up my sore muscles and disordered stomach. What a relief! Afterwards I took a night walk around the park. I managed to photograph a beautiful Brown Mouse Lemur (Microcebus rufus) and a Malagasy Civet (Fossa Fossana), which is similar to the Polish fox.

The following day was not particularly challenging. I only had to cover 65 km to reach the place where Polish missionaries lived. Thus I cycled to Fianarantsoa, receiving a very warm welcome, as usual. There was a considerable group of missionaries belonging to different congregations. They were all visiting the Camilians. I listened to many interesting stories about Madagascar. Instead of one night, I spent two nights in this place, because I needed to exchange some money. Since I arrived on Sunday, I could not do it. On Monday morning I went to a bank, where the relevant clerk had a spacious room at his disposal (just like in our banks), but it took him around a quarter of an hour to handle each client. He was constantly walking to and fro, consulting with his superiors. I was the fourth person in the line, and I was nervous as hell, worrying that somebody might run off with my bicycle! But… stoic patience is a rule over there. The Malagasy claim that the time passes slowly, so why hurry?

I bid farewell to the missionaries and headed further south.